Say Not A Thing
by Denwa
Summary: No one quietly hands him dinner tonight. [Modern AU. Sasuke, Shisui, Itachi.]


**Say Not A Thing.**  
_Written By China Daiquiri._

(**Warning:** Not thoroughly edited, because I am in need of a beta except I hate betas so, yeah. It's something like that.)  
(**I do not know what I did with the tenses**. I swear that I don't. I'm confused about it, too. And, no, I don't like using names, kthxbai.)  
(I failed. I can't write a Sasuke fic without mentioning Naruto or Sakura. Like how I can't write a fic without Sasuke? Yeah.)

* * *

**I. **Memories were truly a difficult concept to understand—that was his first thought when he stared up, up where his off-white ceiling was. His brother would be home soon, and he would be found still sleepy-eyed, his hair still messy from the tossing and turning of his night. His brother would be home with his boyfriend walking in, probably having a cup of coffee or something like that. 

His brother's boyfriend—what was his name again?—was from another branch of his family; the lesser one, but it was indirect incest, anyways. He wrinkled his nose at that—his brother was always strange, even from the beginning; maybe he was stranger now than before.

The door would open soon, Sasuke knew. His brother would be here soon, and his pretty, light boned boyfriend would be right behind him, a little shy with a natural human rouge-colored splash on his cheeks, almost unbearably sweet—_dainty_, yet Sasuke was still on his bed, dreading the day and the hours that would come soon. He decided that he would not speak, even if his brother and his brother's boyfriend wanted for him to speak (Shisui, the delicate thing, has said that his voice was _beautiful_, absolutely _beautiful_ and so he won't speak to him any longer).

He tells himself that, no, it's not jealousy; he doesn't like boys, not even the blonde boy in school—he likes _girls_; the pink-haired girl, so achingly _shy_ around him, almost as shy as that other girl—what-was-her-name—around the blondie, but the very thought of being jealous melted away into anger, anger, anger, and he says to himself, "I'm not in love with my brother's boyfriend—I don't even _like_ boys," and the thought of it was so silly that he could've cried like when he was eight and his father bid him one last goodbye before leaving.

When he heard the door open, he carefully got up, not making any noise, and locked his door.

If they were to yell, "Sasuke!" then he was not to reply, no matter how beautiful Shisui thought his voice was.

-

**II.** The first memory that had come up in Sasuke's mind was the one with his brother and him walking to the park. He remembered straw sandals on his brother's feet, the strawberries that his mother had cut up and put into a creamy porcelain bowl. He was four. Maybe three; it was a little fuzzy in his head, swirling together, making him blanch at the thought of separating fact from fiction.

The next one was not so pleasant; it was disobedience. He was five (or maybe he was four?), and it tasted like the sourest wind you could find that was floating on craggy, dry mountains—vultures, above your head, tearing at your clothes. Freedom was a frightening experience; he had felt afraid, making his own decisions, feeling like if he did the wrong thing then the world would crumble around him and he would be the only one falling, leaving his brother behind, leaving his mother, his father _up there_, and it felt like suffocating (drowning?). He was running away (from home or school?). Running away. Running away—he was always doing that.

Sometimes when he crosses streets, walking quickly past the crowds and crowds of people, he feels like he just can't breathe, saying his brother's name over and over again; and when that didn't help, he switched to his mother's name (she's _dead_), his father's name (he's _dead_), his brother's boyfriend's name. The pollution in the air, killing him, slowly; those inconsiderate, incompetent fools, killing him, slower still.

He once followed his brother and his brother's boyfriend—they sat in a coffeehouse, drinking _coffee_, probably burning their throats, probably killing themselves. He hates coffee, he really does; he likes to drink tea (preferably green tea; the others tasted like sour dirt), and when he was done, he would pretend to read the tea leaves. His brother's boyfriend once asked him if he wanted to go into fortune telling and he replied rather coolly, "I don't think that it's any of your _bus_iness"; telling him off like that, he thought after, was probably not the best of ideas. He missed school (it was Thursday), the teachers yelled at him—now that he thinks about it, he really didn't care, but right now, closed off from the world—the black-haired, dark-eyed boy looking at the window—he is really considering.

-

**III.** It's hard, he knows, to really understand feelings, but when his brother steps out of the house for something (he can't remember) and he is sitting in front of his brother's (delicate, pale, understanding) boyfriend, he doesn't know what to think, what to say without making him sound like a complete idiot (he's cool, composed, poised, but why isn't he right now?).

"It's a nice day outside, isn't it?" his brother's boyfriend asks him quietly, sipping his coffee.

"Nice day," he agreed, swirling his mug of tea; only leaves and a margin of water remained. He would have to get some soon.

His brother's boyfriend sipped his coffee again, bolder; slightly bolder, and said innocently, "You know, I still remember you when you were twelve. I had asked you if you want to be a fortuneteller, except you said that you didn't." He lifted his coffee up to his lips again and it annoyed the hell out of the younger boy. "But I never got to ask you why. Would you care to tell me now? Unless if you've forgotten, of course…." Was it a smug smile on his face? Was it not—

Shisui smiles, beckons Sasuke forward with his finger. The boy does as he is asked, and his brother's boyfriend tilts his head down to Sasuke's face (the boy is surprised, startled, afraid) and leans in to kiss him.

"Consider this moment a mistake," he whispers into the boy's ears (his ears are red, a pretty shade of red) when he pulls away.

Surprisingly, the mug does not slip from his hands; the remaining leaves do not fall; the water is not dead.

-

**IV.** When he turns seventeen, Sasuke is given a sextant from his brother and a book on tealeaf reading by his brother's boyfriend. He is served tea—green tea, because that, he has recently discovered, is the only tea that he'll ever touch, whether it be mandatory or manually—and traditional foods—things that his mother used to make for him; things that he hasn't eaten for year and year of time; things that he doesn't even remember too well. The first memory were his brother's straw sandals, the strawberries on the table, the porcelain bowl, his mother's apron, his father's rather crooked smile; the second was something that he doesn't want to remember; something that he wants to push out of his head forever, stop haunting him; disobedience wasn't for him.

His brother's boyfriend's name perhaps wasn't too lucky, (dead water; who named their child after dead water?) didn't sound too lucky (the "shi" in "Shisui" reminded him of the number four) and maybe (_maybe_, you know?) wasn't too lucky to begin with; to be around with; to even talk to, touch, kiss.

"I get the book, I really do," he says in hushed voices, laying on his bed, looking up to his off-white ceiling, his brother sitting cross-legged on his leather chair, propelling himself back and forth, having nothing to do. "I get the book, but why did you give me a sextant? You know," he continues, suddenly sitting up, leaning back on a pillow, "birthday presents are supposed to be somewhat _memorable_, don't you think?" His brother nods distractedly. "I could just go out one day and buy one myself, you know."

A cup of green tea sat on his desk, but he chose to ignore the comforting fragrance.

"Right?"

"Hm," replies his brother. "Did you know that you're one-fourth prince? Of course you know that; mother has only told you a million times. Even if you're not full-blooded, don't you think that princes should be able to find their way when stranded? When caught between things that they cannot possibly understand, don't they always find their way? I believe that you should be able to, too."

"Believe me," Sasuke agrees airily, almost breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling again; "it's true."

They don't say anything after that.


End file.
